<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>that's what the violins are for by SarcasticSargassum</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927952">that's what the violins are for</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSargassum/pseuds/SarcasticSargassum'>SarcasticSargassum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Peter Nureyev, Asexuality, Banter, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homoromantic Bandaging Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Sharing a Bed, Teasing, The Tomb, asexual author, doesnt he always, sorry about that, the comfort is mostly in chapter 2, yall know im a slut for the tomb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:54:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSargassum/pseuds/SarcasticSargassum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Nureyev's masks are crafted of allure, flowing fabric and impeccably smudged makeup adorning whichever force of attraction he declares himself to be that night. The man underneath, however, is a little more complicated- and when he becomes himself again for the first time in years under the hands of Juno Steel, all those complications come with him. Emotional introspection ensues, kind of.</p><p>or: a character study looking at Peter Nureyev through the lens of "hey i think this dude is asexual"</p><p>Title from the poem Unfinished Duet by Richard Siken.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>that's what the violins are for</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so a while back i had a thought that went something like "hey i think it would be really cool if nureyev were ace" and then when i came out of the fugue state that ensued, about half of this had already been written. i just think there needs to be more ace content in fandom is all and if i have to be the one to create it i will do so. </p><p>cws for ch1 are: internalized aphobia, non-explicit references to and discussions of sex, unhealthy relationship with sex, canon-typical mentions of blood, injuries</p><p>there are more detailed explanations for these in the end notes, although they do contain minor spoilers for the fic. If any of them aren't your thing, I totally understand, take care of yourself.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He's twenty when he realizes.</p><p>
  <span>Tonight, he’s Cedar Vidame, a languid, easy-going rich kid who speaks like smoke disappearing into the air- and in the same fashion, he hopes to disappear tonight with a couple hundred million creds from Lorianne Takahashi’s bank account. All he had to do to catch the real estate heir’s attention was smirk, all long limbs and chestnut silk, and his mark was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone, as a matter of fact. He’d vastly underestimated the intensity of Lorianne’s infatuation with Vidame, and as he fakes a drunken stumble in the rush to the heir’s bedroom, he can feel his other plans slipping through his grasp. A scribbled shorthand somewhere far, far below Plan B rises to his mind and he hides his wince with a champagne-laced giggle- he hates to try a technique for the first time on a heist this important, but seduction seems universal enough. He knows the basics, probably, and if he purposefully doesn’t think about it, the task ahead doesn’t seem too unpleasant. Nureyev is so caught up in his own head that he barely notices the sheets dipping under his weight until Lorianne is on top of him, straddling him and pulling him up by the tie into a bruising kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic flashes in his chest momentarily when he realizes how far away from him the situation has gotten. He kisses back on instinct, but it’s distant, a mirror of the motions Lorianne presses against his skin. There are hands in Nureyev's hair and roaming down the expanse of his back and slipping between the buttons of his shirt, almost overwhelming in how fiercely they’re trying to take him apart. The heir pulls back with a gasp, hair a mess and eyes blown, looking for all the world like he wants to devour Vidame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve wanted you all night, Cedar. Ever since I saw you… God, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Lorianne crawls forward, boxing Nureyev in against the headboard. His mouth is dry, and his hand crawls slowly towards his pants pocket as the man atop him </span>
  <em>
    <span>just keeps talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You feel it too, don’t y-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lorianne’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapses. Peter’s hand slowly moves away from his neck, holding the tranquilizer dart between two perfectly still fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world doesn’t exactly spin around him, but he still finds himself stumbling slightly when he gets off the bed, like everything’s been shifted ever so slightly off its axis. Nureyev checks his watch. There’s no time for introspection, so he leaves his feelings in a file near the very back of his head- </span>
  <em>
    <span>for future consideration, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells himself, as he so often does- and runs out into the corridors of the Takahashi mansion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He never does unpack that file. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wise thief once told Nureyev to use everything at his disposal in pursuit of a mark. When he was younger, that meant his rounded face and wide-eyed innocence, making those around him drop their guards so he could reach in and grab their wallets. This, too, must have changed eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s no longer the doe-eyed child he once was, instead growing into a deep voice and sharp, attractive features. To take advantage of this, he buys new clothes that suit his figure- corsets and flowing blouses and glittering jewelry to draw attention everywhere but his quickly-moving hands.  He does try to avoid seduction if possible- no point in putting himself in situations he doesn’t enjoy if there’s an easier way to procure what he needs- but it’s never quite off the table, for convenience’s sake if nothing else. In short, the idea of sex itself is hardly appealing, but he finds that if he pretends otherwise, certain very wealthy people will let him come close to certain very full safes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few different marks over the years try to properly take him to bed. Kind or entitled, teasing or brusque, they never get far, and he escapes back alleys and gilded bedrooms alike without a sound. He lives that way for years- pushing his boundaries with a suggestively trailing hand and escaping quickly when it gets to be too much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Juno Steel wears beauty like the tattered coat that swishes behind him when he walks, all sharp edges a little too well-worn by unexpected kindness and Martian sand. He makes Rex Glass’ heart flutter and then makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter Nureyev’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>heart flutter in mere seconds, and as Peter’s mouth runs out practiced flirtation the only thought in his mind is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. Wow. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nureyev had created Rex Glass in a rush of panic after the Kanagawa debacle, looking up Juno Steel as quickly as he could and making assumptions about what would best appeal to a lonely, rugged detective. He’d concluded that if he needed to get close to Steel, he’d have to convince him Rex wanted him. And the end result was, well…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rex is unabashedly horny, for lack of a better term. Nureyev files away the knot of discomfort that tightens in his stomach at the thought and flirts like his life depends on it- because really, it does. He bats his eyelashes and quirks his mouth into an asymmetrical grin, flashes his teeth when he sees Juno’s eyes dart to them and pitches his voice into the sultriest register he can muster. A great thief once told him to focus on the job at hand, and Peter takes that one step further- if he can only think about the latest pick-up line uttered into the air between them, he doesn’t have to think about what that line implies he wants. It’ll be a shame, leaving Juno unconscious in his apartment while he steals out the window- but he doesn’t need to consider that until it happens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then things go very wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cecil Kanagawa chains them to a chair made of knives- really, how do Martians even come </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span> with these things- and cackles as the cameramen click. He’s not laughing quite as hard when Nureyev and Juno escape and pin him down with a boot to the throat, but Nureyev is too concerned with the blood staining Juno’s clothes to care. As soon as they’re alone, Juno stumbles, landing solidly in Nureyev’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rex’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> arms, he keeps reminding himself- he cannot afford to slip now that Juno is getting closer to his trail. But as he lets Rex’s flustered earnestness take over his hands, fussing until Juno’s a little more comfortably propped against the wall, something at the back of his mind pipes up that Juno Steel close to him might not be such a bad thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps it wouldn’t be, if the stakes right now weren’t quite so high- but as it is, he has very little room to let his own myriad whims have their way. Instead, he pulls away to go find a first-aid kit, coming back just in time to see Juno shove his comms into his pocket. “Are you alright, Juno? It sounded like you were talking to yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just calling my secretary, making sure my will’s in order.” Rex laughs, kneeling next to the detective and starting to root through the med kit. Juno’s brow furrows when he talks about the case, then again when he talks about his brother. There’s an openness there, in every little tightening and relaxation of his expression. Nureyev remembers hearing, once, that the eyes are the windows to the soul; Juno Steel has left his unshuttered and ajar, still letting the world come in and make itself at home despite how many times it may have hurt him before. Nureyev envies him a little for that- but really, he just finds it beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>File it away</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back to the task at hand. Now that he’s managed to clean out the punctures, it’s clear Juno will need stitches for them. There’s an automatic stitcher in the kit, but it’s clunky- the kind that needs a certain amount of leverage to work. When he finishes threading the needle and edges closer to Juno, he’s not sure if the sentence pushing at the backs of his teeth is an apology or an adoration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up practically in Juno’s lap, knees on either side of his thigh as he stoops down to press the edges of the wound together. His face is inches from Juno’s, his nose full of the vinegar smell of blaster smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Nureyev wonders, faintly, if Juno can hear his heartbeat. They’re so close together, his entire world narrowing down to the curve of Juno’s shoulder and the scar on Juno’s lip and Juno, Juno, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Juno</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Juno, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes, all defenses dropped for this one moment, beautiful and breathless and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bleeding. Right. He doesn’t shake his head to pull him back to himself, but it’s a close thing. Somehow, his hands stay steady as he places the stitcher against Juno’s chest, even as the rest of him thrums in double-time with the whirr of the machine. Juno hisses at a particularly sensitive spot and Nureyev does his best to comfort him, shushing him with the gentlest tone he can muster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost there, and… done!” He removes the device, shoving back the impulse to run a soothing hand through Juno’s hair. When he sits back on his heels to inspect the work, he feels the cold air that rushes to fill the space between them like a slap in the face- unpleasant and harsh, yes, but necessary. He is not Peter Nureyev, tenderly patching up someone he cares about in an empty hallway- he is Rex Glass, suturing the wounds of the detective he’s dragged into this mess. He will leave it, and Hyperion City soon after, if all goes well, at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, when he pulls Juno to his feet with a suggestive comment and a smile, it feels all too much like Nureyev lying through Rex’s sharpened teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Juno leans in, the smell of 10-cred whiskey on his breath. The ever-changing neon of Hyperion plays against his skin, soft color standing out from the muted monotone of his clothing. He’s as good a kisser as he is everything else, and oh, Nureyev could spend an eternity here- drinking in the taste of Juno Steel until it flows into his veins and comes home to his heart. The way Juno melts against him as soon as he pulls on the lapels of that worn trenchcoat, warm hands coming to rest at his sides, is something he wishes he could capture to keep in his back pocket long after he leaves Mars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the handcuffs close around his wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Juno! Usually not until the second date, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it, Glass, or… whoever the hell you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juno hardly has him trapped- he’s got a lockpick sewn into each sleeve and Rex’s stiletto nails are probably sharp enough to get him at least halfway without pulling either out- but he decides to wait. Glass’ speech still rests smooth and ready on his tongue, and he hopes it doesn’t sound as stilted as he feels when he lets it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… take it from your tone that this is not another layer to the roleplay?” He hopes he hasn’t misread the situation- no matter how attractive he finds Juno, the idea of being bound and helpless before the detective is still far and away from anything he’d be comfortable with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stings a little, being exposed like this- but at the same time, there’s something in the way Juno scrutinizes him that makes him feel... well, that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t know. Instinctive fear, at first, accompanied with a hundred knee-jerk reactions to run-laugh-deflect-mask-etcetera, but past that is something deeper- something warm that unfolds and stretches in his chest, pushing against the bars of his ribcage desperate to be free. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>, terrifying and exhilarating in its entirety.</span>
</p><p><span>The name “Glass” slips from between Juno’s lips, spat like he knows it’s a misnomer, and suddenly Nureyev knows one thing- he cannot let that name be the one Juno knows him by when their paths diverge. Is it stupid? Yes. Impulsive? Definitely- but if there is one thing Peter Nureyev is good at, it is putting unnecessary doubt behind him.</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>As the detective keeps talking, he shakes his arm a few times to dislodge the pen hidden in his sleeve, and begins to talk as he fishes a scrap of paper from his back pocket and begins to scrawl his goodbye.</span></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, he tries not to think about Juno. He carries out other heists in the meantime, following the orders Miasma sends him while simultaneously plotting her downfall. Easy work, really- but easy work means a lot of time to… consider, and eventually he caves to the butterflies in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s strange, this new, infatuated rush that tugs at his attention during every waking moment. He’s faked the feeling too many times to count, played at brusque interest and breathless adoration as the situation called for them, but the real deal is so much <em>more</em> than he remembers. Usually when someone gets close to him, he runs- packs his bags and abandons the alias they’d fallen for in the shredded remnants of a fake ID and a cut-out in their heart with a silhouette that’s not quite his. Juno, however...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juno had seen through his act in an instant, reached through the mask of Rex Glass to tug on heartstrings Nureyev thought had shriveled out of tune years ago. He savors the memory of those hands- callused and warm, unaware of the way Peter Nureyev solidified beneath them.</span>
</p><p><span>What would Juno’s laugh sound like- not the derisive snort he directs at himself, but a <em>real</em> one, genuine joy writ on his face the way he deserves? Oh, the things Juno deserves- whether he would agree with Nureyev’s assessment of his worth or not, Nureyev’s head still buzzes incessantly with hypotheticals of </span><em><span>something</span></em><span> between them. He’s aware how foolish it is to get stuck on these fantasies, of course- but the images of Juno in his mind’s eye, glimmering in the light of a hundred different suns, so thoroughly take his breath away that the idea of filing them away at the moment seems nigh impossible.</span> </p><p>
  <span>Alongside imagined rushes of adrenaline and gentle kisses by starlight come a select few... newer considerations. His mind provides him with scant flashes: his name spoken aloud for the first time in decades, whispered reverently into the air while the detective comes apart under his hands, the shiver of anticipation as Nureyev worships every scar on his body that he can find. Juno, staring up at him and seeing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter Nureyev.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never been one for sex, and even Juno Steel couldn’t change that- but the sex is never the focus, anyway. In hindsight, there are rarely any details past the location and the vague idea of… <em>some</em> kind of action, everything narrowing down past his body and into the fluttering, glowing feeling Juno stoked in his chest. That feeling makes itself <em>very</em> well known as he picks the lock to Juno's apartment and settles on the threadbare couch, running a hand over the seams as if trying to rouse the ghosts of the past from their slumber. Excitement jitters in his veins when his ears catch the sound of heavy boots treading up the stairs, and he braces himself for the feeling of Juno's eyes upon him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Juno won’t stop looking at him, and it’s starting to make him nervous. On the elevator ride to their hotel room, he keeps noticing Juno’s hand flick down to his pocket, clench around something, then slip back out to tap an irritated rhythm on the handrail at his hip. The distrust in the detective’s eyes tugs at something deep inside his chest even as they trade barbs he only half-processes, a loose thread in his tightly wound core picked and pulled at until it hangs loose and exposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s hardly the only part of him that feels exposed- he’d exercised every trick of manipulation he knew to keep Engstrom’s questions far away from Peter Nureyev, but he’d still revealed all too much. If not for the fact that he’d trained himself out of the reflex years ago, his hands would be shaking, clasped tightly behind his back to stop him from physically reaching for all the parts of himself he’d let out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really wasn’t anything too important, in the end- certainly nothing so damning to identify him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There are millions of people on Brahma. A good deal of them have no military experience. A good deal of them were involved in the rebellion. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He soothes his racing mind with practiced justifications, repeating them over and over again until the door to their hotel room closes behind him and he can show Juno something he’s much less uncomfortable with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s hardly shy about his body- he knows he’s attractive, and Juno’s reaction as he begins to loosen his corset does not disappoint. Even through his bluster, the flush that rises to the detective’s cheeks is as bright as the cherry-red suit jacket he wears like armor. Nureyev stifles a giggle as Juno stammers, and a sigh when a handful of doodles is shoved under his nose. Then he realizes Juno’s opinion of him cannot possibly get any lower, apparently, and he lets out a long breath of exasperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I put my </span>
  <em>
    <span>livelihood </span>
  </em>
  <span>in your hands, you know,” he tries his best not to spit, and has to hold back the screaming, grasping bit of him that claws itself a little further from the depths every day to break the polished surface of Peter Nureyev. It’s the bit that cries, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t you understand, Juno? Don’t you see how much this means?</span>
  </em>
  <span> while recoiling in fear of actually telling Juno what his name really means to him. He has handed his future, his past, his bleeding heart to Juno for the lady to hold between his teeth, and he has not bitten down yet. When Juno turns and storms out of the hotel room, he holds that small comfort to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes his time deconstructing the mask of Duke Rose, deliberating on what bits to slip out of and what to keep clutched to him like a knife white-knuckled underneath a pillow. The sharply tailored edges and flowing sleeves of Duke are quickly replaced with a more comfortable set of pajamas, but he keeps the form underneath much the same- the delicately blended eyeshadow and the temporary floral tattoos that strike along his cheekbones must go, of course, lest Juno notice, but he can’t bring himself to remove the concealer daubed under his eyes or the contour sharpening the hollows of his cheeks. He doesn’t even know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he cares so much, he muses as he habitually searches his face for flaws. It’s not like he has any plans to seduce Juno tonight, or really even talk to him after their disastrous confrontation earlier- he meant it when he said he wanted to sleep- but he wants Juno to find him attractive, even like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Juno slips back through the hotel door, Nureyev is lying on top of the hotel sheets, long legs crossed in a way that is calculated to appear entirely casual and thumbing through a Reader’s Digest he must have picked up sometime between his job with Vicky and now. It’s hardly interesting, but it’s enough to keep his attention off the rolling boil of anxiety in his gut that began protesting in earnest once it sank in that he’d be sharing a bed with Juno Steel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Juno were a mark, this is when he would rise from the bed, slide deft fingers across palms-arms-shoulders-waist until the lady underneath is putty in his hands. Even without moving, instinct tells him to shift this way or that, accentuate his features and arch his back in a way that will pull Juno into his orbit like a temporarily misled moon. It would be so easy- he knows how he would do it, every step parsed out as neatly typed instructions to pull out of a file and obey to the letter until he can give in to the urge to run that itches underneath his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he cocks his head towards Juno, arching one eyebrow and patting the bed next to him. “Coming, detective? We’ve got quite a big day tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juno stares at him, speechless, then scoffs and looks at the wall. “Nope. Not happening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s not happening, Juno?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not- I’m not sleeping with you!” Juno splutters, stammering through several aborted attempts at what might just be a sentence while Nureyev decidedly does not look away. The pure</span>
  <em>
    <span> fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> of toying with him like this is so hard to resist, and Nureyev has never been very strong when it comes to abstaining from his desires.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No? Why, detective, if I’d known that was on the table, I would have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nope</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no, no thanks, stop right there.” Juno shakes his head, grabbing a pillow from the empty side of the mattress and stalking over to an empty stretch of floor. “I’m sleeping down here, so don’t even try it.” He snatches that coat of his from where it hangs on the closet door and lowers himself to the ground, pulling it over him with perhaps more force than is necessary. “Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nureyev sighs. “Juno…” No response. “Juno, I was merely teasing. I’m sorry if I went too far. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” There’s a small, selfish part of him that hopes he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that maybe Juno is like him, that maybe his hesitance in this area wouldn’t matter. That part is dreadfully shortsighted, of course, and he bats it back with a practiced hand- with Juno already so paranoid around him, he cannot afford to lose any avenues for trust. “I’m not going to hurt you, detective. Believe it or not, I don’t make a habit of stabbing my allies in the back as they sleep. My back, on the other hand, aches just </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about how you’ll feel when you wake up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long, patient silence, and then Juno curses under his breath and drags himself to his feet. “Scoot over. I don’t wanna wake up with your stickbug limbs strangling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Nureyev moves to his edge of the bed and slips under the covers, humming in contentment at the newfound warmth. “Do you want to change? I can’t imagine it’s comfortable sleeping in a suit. There should be an extra set of pajamas in the closet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why in the hell would there be-” Juno groans. “Of course there are.” He shucks off his suit jacket and shirt, leaving him in a pair of maroon dress pants and a white tank top. Like this, Nureyev can see much more clearly the battleground of scars that grace his arms and shoulders, each raised curve and starburst another tally mark in an ongoing count of just how much hurt the universe can direct at one person. In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Nureyev privately thinks that Juno may well be the most beautiful person he has ever seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the light has been turned off and the hotel curtains drawn, darkness falls over the two of them like a blanket draped by a gentle hand. Despite Juno’s initial resistance, he falls asleep in minutes, and the jittering of Nureyev’s nerves once again has time to snag his attention and tie it down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Juno were a mark, this is when he’d be gasping against Nureyev’s lips or falling unconscious as Nureyev tucks a tranquilizer dart into his pocket and flees the room. Instead, he is curled into a ball as if trying to disappear, the tense suspicion that had haunted his shoulders in wakefulness standing guard even as he sleeps. Juno does not trust Nureyev, and he cannot pretend something in his chest doesn’t sting at the thought- but as he lies awake, it hits him that if Juno were a mark, he likely still wouldn’t trust Nureyev. The most Nureyev would be able to do would be to convince himself Juno trusted him, and dig his nails into the bit of him that felt guilty when he inevitably had to betray that trust as he disappeared into the night. There is no way around it, no flirtation or charisma that can get him where he needs to be- he will have to earn Juno’s trust, bit by bit, as honestly as someone like him can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t remember the last time he did that. As he slips deeper into sleep, his last thought is that he wouldn’t mind trying again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are a few stretches of time, when they’re not trying and failing to hide their wounds or fitfully sleeping in turns, where they manage to talk about things other than imminent doom. Mostly questions, traded back and forth: details of heists he’s been in, cases Juno’s solved. It reminds him a little of Rangian Street Poker in that neither of them ever lie- that’s hardly a comfort, but Nureyev finds himself too exhausted to care about that reflex slipping from him. Right now, they’re positioned against the wall, Nureyev draped halfway across Juno’s lap in a way that doesn’t aggravate either of their injuries too grievously but allows the physical contact they’ve clung to as comfort.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Juno was hesitant- retreating to the furthest corner of the room to wipe the blood off his face and glaring daggers at Nureyev when he dared try to approach. But day after day of shuddering through their own solitary pains wore them down, bit by bit, and now the warmth that Juno provides is as much a reassurance as anything can be, these days. The casual certainty of Juno's touch keeps him from falling to pieces on the worst days, when the pain threatens to chew him up and spit him out raw, and in return he gives everything he can to keep Juno well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, Juno hums in consideration when his answer is over, something about being a lounge singer for Valles Vicky. Nureyev is glad for the noise- the worst thing down here is the silence that creeps in when one of them is sleeping. The empty air feels almost oppressive sometimes, a cold reminder of their situation and how alone they truly are, how-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nureyev, I got it.” Juno’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and it takes him a moment to adjust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got what, dear detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My… question.” Juno’s brow furrows. “You alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes.” Nureyev would shake his head to clear it, if it didn’t already ache so. Instead, he takes a deep breath and slowly nods that he’s ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Uh...have you ever seduced anyone for a heist?” Juno blushes through the question, looking down at Nureyev- and wonderful, he’s just aware enough to really </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> his heart sink. He knows he isn’t obligated to answer, but it’s hard not to feel like he’s disappointing Juno when he clears his throat and looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, er, actually… I don’t really- do that.” The words come out more tangled than he’d like, anxiety tripping his syllables against each other. “Apologies for the anticlimactic answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Juno’s silent for a moment, then shrugs, shifting slightly so Nureyev rests more comfortable against him. “Okay. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I guess Glass just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, don’t remind me of Rex,” Peter groans, letting out the closest thing to a laugh his battered lungs will allow. “He was constructed out of innuendo because that was what I thought would get me through the heist. I understand the confusion, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juno nods, looking away. Nureyev can see his fingers flicking against the worn mattress in the way they do when he’s thinking, a rhythm a little like rain miles underground. “What would you have done, if I took you up on your, uh, offers?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckles. “Well, usually, if the heist takes me as far as the bedroom, I make my escape before it can go any further.” His mind flashes back to the night in Juno’s apartment, the taste of cheap whiskey on his tongue and the way Juno had looked at him. “But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… in your case, I’m not sure. I don’t feel sexual attraction to anyone, and I don’t find the idea of sex appealing most of the time, but if it’s someone I trust, it might become something I’m more open to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has it ever been? Someone you trust, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not-” Peter pulls back just a little, leaning up to press his lips against the bottom of Juno’s jaw. “Not for a very long time. But more recently… you see, I met this very stubborn detective who seems to be hell-bent on making me rethink everything I thought was true about myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is- is that how it works?” Juno tilts his head away, raising an eyebrow. “I mean… Mick was aro, but we never really talked about that stuff. I don’t wanna- force you into anything, or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, my dear detective, I assure you you wouldn’t be forcing me into anything I wouldn’t willingly go into.” Nureyev sighs, drumming a pattern on Juno’s sternum. “I am not, nor will I ever be, sexually attracted to you. However, that doesn’t mean I’m repulsed by the idea of sex with you in particular. Let’s just say... it’s hardly out of the picture for after we escape from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh.” Juno gulps audibly. “I, uh… yeah. That sounds… good. Only if you want it, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want it if you do,” Nureyev says, shrugging. “I wouldn't initiate, necessarily, but I think I would be fine if you did. Of course I don’t know for sure, this is all hypothetical. You’d have to be prepared for…” He turns his face away from Juno’s again. “Disappointment. As a possibility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nureyev…” Juno murmurs, placing his hand on Nureyev’s cheek. “You could never disappoint me. Honestly- I don’t think I don’t think it’s physically possible. It’s great if you wanna have sex, obviously, but I’m not gonna die if you don’t. Just being around you is more than I deserve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than-” Nureyev’s brow furrows and he looks up, ready to retort. “Juno, that’s not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so busy formulating a response that he doesn’t hear the door to the tomb creak open until two of Miasma’s goons are yanking them apart. They’re tugged down the hallway to what feels like another eternity of pain, and the conversation is forgotten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Juno is</span>
  <em>
    <span> alive,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Nureyev kisses him like the continuation of that fact depends solely on being able to merge their lips together by sheer force. When they part, he knows Juno can see the tears welling in his eyes, and for once he doesn’t care. He has already shown Juno Steel so much of him, parts of himself that he didn’t even know existed until this magnificent lady dug them up, parts of himself he didn’t know wanted so badly to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They limp out of the tomb, leaning on each other for support. It’s all a blur after that- zipping through the desert, a clinic in Hyperion, lying through gritted teeth to a nurse that yes, he’s Juno’s fiance, can he </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> be there when he wakes up, and finally walking back down sand-blasted streets to the last place on Mars either of them will ever stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a look in Juno’s eyes Nureyev doesn’t like when he talks about their future together. For all the tenderness in his voice, he speaks of a life among the stars like it’s a cliff's edge that may not forgive him when he hits the bottom. After so many years as a living deception, Nureyev has gotten very good at telling when someone is lying- so when Juno whispers “That sounds great, Nureyev,” with the intonation of a dead man, he makes a decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It happens in steps: it has to, so Nureyev doesn’t have to think about the heart-stopping entirety of what he wants to do. First: pull Juno in, wrap long hands around his lower back and draw one up to cradle his face. Rub a thumb across his cheekbone, but steer clear of the place where a new eyepatch stands out starkly against his skin. If Juno doesn’t want to think about his eye tonight, Nureyev will simply worship every other part of him twofold- treat him with the reverence he deserves so Juno realizes that his place is here, lit in faint echoes of neon pink and leaning into Nureyev’s palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second: lean down, smile, let every promise and dream he has filed too far away to recite out loud show in his eyes when he does so. Whisper in his ear, “What do you say we begin that beautiful future right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nureyev meets Juno’s lips with his, and it is everything he’s ever wanted. His detective stretches up, pulls him in desperately, kisses him like it’s their last. If Nureyev can ensure one thing tonight, it will be that </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular simile never comes to fruition. He can feel Juno melting into his arms, slotting against him and making the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounds, and it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Third: take him to bed. Juno’s knees hit the side of the mattress and he goes sprawling back, pupils blown and cheeks flushed against the backdrop of the hotel sheets. Nureyev follows, supporting himself with arms that only shake a little. He wants to tangle himself together with Juno until nothing could pick them apart, he wants for </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be held without the risk of letting go, he wants, he wants, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nureyev, wait.” Juno places a hand against his chest, not pushing but stopping him in his tracks nonetheless. “Are you- are you okay with this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am, love,” Nureyev says, and he tries to make sure it doesn’t sound too much like begging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just- because you said you didn’t, and I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Juno, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> this.” Nureyev places his hand against his own chest, peels Juno’s palm finger-by-finger from his sternum. “As long as you do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” Juno gulps, swallowing the temptation Nureyev traces against his wrist hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah. Yeah, I do too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then everything else can wait.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With every touch, Nureyev leaves a mark. Anything to bind him to Juno Steel, the gorgeous lady with a spirit firm as the foundations of Hyperion City itself and twice as enduring. He takes everything he wants to say and pours it into the way his hands trace across Juno’s skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s simple, really. Juno Steel wants to feel wanted, and Peter Nureyev- after twenty years in the dark, Peter Nureyev may have finally figured out what </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wants. When Juno pushes up to kiss him again, he knows for sure- Peter Nureyev wants to be seen, and Juno sees him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thrill of being known carries him over the sheets, against the headboard, he feels it thrum under his skin as Juno’s hand trails downwards and it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fourth: fall asleep beside Juno Steel, the last echoes of <em>If you're a fool, that makes two of us</em> settling deep within him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fifth: wake up alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw details:<br/>- internalized aphobia: nureyev experiences some internalized aphobia in this fic, not in the "being asexual means i'm broken" way but in the "sex is something i /should/ be comfortable with whether that's for Juno or the sake of a job, but it's not" way. When he expresses this out loud, he's reassured that that guilt is unfounded.<br/>- non-explicit references to and discussions of sex: since this is a fic about an asexual character that canonically has sex, i'm writing Nureyev as sex-repulsed most of the time but sex-neutral if it involves someone he trusts. His relationship with sex and asexuality is complicated, and it's discussed a lot over the course of the fic.<br/>- unhealthy relationship with sex: Nureyev as a person isn't really. that respectful of his own boundaries and needs? all sex in this fic is fully consensual on both sides, but some of his rationale doesn't really hold up- he tends to think of sex as a necessary vector for the kinds of affection he wants to receive, which is untrue. If that makes you uncomfortable, I understand- there'll be catharsis in chapter 2, but since chapter 1 is a recap of season 1 it does end in a bad place for him re: getting smashed and dashed.</p><p>==</p><p>this fic has been in progress for like. 4 months now, and i'm so so excited to finally unleash it upon yall!! as someone who's ace myself, i have a Lot of thoughts on ace ppls' diverse relationships with sex and how that can affect a lot of how we move about a very sex-focused world. writing this allowed me to do some introspection that i haven't really had the chance for, and i really enjoyed the process and the analysis i got to do. </p><p>thank you so much for reading this, i hope you enjoyed!! comments and kudos bring light to my life and warmth to my soul so please leave one if you're so inclined. chapter 2 should be out by the end of march, it's almost done and i'm even more proud of it than i am of this chapter if that tells you anything abt how hyped i am for it, so stick around for that and maybe read some of the other fics i have up while you're at it! i promise most of them are happier than this one lmao<br/>my tumblr is sarcasticsargassum and my twitter is clicksargassum so if you wanna come yell at me you know where to find me! have a wonderful day/night/whenever you read this!!</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30540714">[Podfic] that's what the violins are for</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualoftheblade/pseuds/bisexualoftheblade_podfics">bisexualoftheblade_podfics (bisexualoftheblade)</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
</html>